


On the wings of maybe

by Sanwall



Category: Constantine (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, Crossover Pairings, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2014-12-15
Packaged: 2018-03-01 16:14:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2779541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanwall/pseuds/Sanwall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Constantine is somewhere in the Midwest, about to exorcise a demon. Unfortunately, he stumbles across two hunters on the same business, a father and son. John Winchester and John Constantine don't exactly see eye to eye, but Dean, on the other hand, is fascinated by the stranger.</p>
<p>From Constantine's POV, but this fic really explores Dean before the start of the series, so there's that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the wings of maybe

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from the Led Zeppelin song Ten Years Gone which is totally lame because this fic is set a little more than ten years ago, in the Supernatural universe with a visit from Constantine (the TV-version, not the Hellblazer version). No spoilers for either of the TV-series, as this fic takes place before the start of both.  
> Rated Mature, going on Explicit, for sex and there are mentions of prostitution and allusions to parental abuse, so be careful if that is something that triggers you.
> 
> Please also note I wrote this during the span of 24 hours after watching the Constantine mid-season finale and subsequently being hit by massive Stanford-era bisexual-Dean feelings. I don’t even know what’s wrong with me anymore.  
> I even drew [a fucking illustration for this fic what the fuck](http://trailsofpaper.tumblr.com/post/105300960228/on-the-wings-of-maybe-my-completely-self-indulgent)

John Constantine didn’t like the Americas. Built as most of the land was on Indian burial grounds, literally or figuratively, it always felt cold to him. Cold and unforgiving even in the humid heat of a Midwestern summer. It also didn’t help that he was there on behalf of Jasper fucking Winters, _too tied up to deal with it himself, and you owe me, John_ , or that there was a demon to be exorcised.

His mood wasn’t improved when a couple of blundering fools had barged their way into the house where Constantine lay in wait for the demon to appear, and pointed their guns at him. It took several minutes of explaining and the demon showing up for Constantine to realize that these two were hunters, that miserable breed of brute exorcists who considered themselves to be above the occult while shamelessly exploiting it.

It was nothing short of miracle that Constantine managed to exorcise the demon before one of the idiot hunters put a bullet through the poor unsuspecting human possessed. The younger of the two hunters had thrown a flask of holy water at the demon though, distracting it long enough for Constantine to start reciting the Latin chant to drive the demon out.

His suspicion that the hunters were father and son were all but confirmed when the older commanded the younger to go take care of the now-empty host. The younger obeyed wordlessly, with hunched shoulders, and Constantine felt a pang of sadness, because he recognized the behaviour. The act of someone who knew that disobedience meant punishment.

“John Winchester,” the father said with a huff, straightening up and slinging the shotgun over his shoulder. Constantine was glad he didn’t extend a hand, because he didn’t know if he would accept it. Instead he sniffed, and fished out a cigarette to place it between his teeth.

“John Constantine,” he said around the cigarette. “Pleasure.”

“Two Johns,” he heard the son say, where he cradled the still unconscious man. “We need to come up with a nickname to keep you apart.”

Constantine felt the corner of his mouth quirk up at the flippant tone, but John Winchester only snorted derisively.

“That’s Dean,” he said, and Constantine nodded.

“Thanks for the holy water,” he said, swallowing all his usual snide remarks. He wanted to get away from this grim hunter and his son. “I should be going, yeah?”

“What’s a limey like you doing around these parts?” John Winchester said, ignoring him. Constantine reached for his lighter. Just his luck: this wasn’t just a hunter, it was an ex-military hunter.

“A friend asked me to take care of it,” he said and lit his cigarette with one expert flick of his thumb. “Now, I’m sure all of us have places we’d rather be, and you lads seem to have this situation well in ‘and. So, take care, bye now.”

Constantine spared the younger man - Dean - a small smile on his way out, but didn’t look back.

 

Constantine hadn’t counted on it to be over so soon, which meant that he could spend the night at the local pub. Bar, club, whatever these bloody Yanks called it these days. He ended up at just that, a seedy bar in the outskirts of town, where the beer was cheap the the lights dim. He wasn’t even surprised when, some time later, Dean Winchester appeared, hovering over his table.

“Fancy meetin’ you here,” Constantine drawled and sat back, pint in hand. Dean’s full lips quirked into a smile that quickly disappeared.

“You in town for long?” Dean asked, one hand in his back pocket. He was dressed much the same as his father, in big combat boots, plaid shirt and leather jacket, but Constantine could see a few personal touches, like the beaded bracelet on his wrist and the black string of a necklace encircling his throat, not to mention the silver ring gleaming on his finger.

“Long enough,” he answered and gestured towards the opposite chair. “Have a sit-down, will you, mate.”

Somewhat reluctantly, Dean had a seat and crossed his arms on the table. A waiter appeared, and Constantine watched Dean charm her effortlessly while ordering a beer, sending her on her way with a smile. Constantine couldn’t help but chuckle, because he saw himself in Dean in so many ways.

“What’s so funny?” Dean asked, and the sudden defensiveness shouldn’t have surprised Constantine.

“Nothin’,” he lied and took a sip of his glass. “Where’s your father at, then?”

“He prefers to drink in the motel room,” Dean said, a slight sneer sneaking into his voice, before his forehead wrinkled in a frown.

“How’d you know he was my dad?” he asked. Constantine just raised his glass towards Dean and said,

“It’s pretty obvious, innit. So tell me, Dean, what’s a young bloke like you doing here, hunting demons and chatting with a foreigner like me?”

“What’s it to you,” Dean muttered, casting down his eyes, his bloody gorgeous green eyes. Constantine slightly regretted the previous pint he’d had. But he could bet Dean didn’t have it easy, not with his delicate features and the company his father had to keep.

“Nothing much,” Constantine said with a slight delay and a shrug. “I’m just curious. Someone like you could be out chasing skirts instead of...”

He broke off, because the waiter reappeared with Dean’s drink. Dean thanked her, but his smile was noticeably less bright this time around.

“Instead of hanging out with a sad old exorcist like me,” he finished.

Dean put the bottle to his mouth, and it was downright obscene, the way his red lips pursed to fit the bottleneck. Christ, this Dean was barely over twenty-one, Constantine would wager. He could go to hell for this.

But then again, he was  probably headed Downstairs anyway.

So Constantine tapped his glass lightly and awaited Dean’s reply.

“We don’t meet a lot of people like us,” Dean admitted gruffly, at last, and put the bottle down with a clink. “I was curious.”

Constantine noted the way Dean’s gaze flicked from his eyes to his mouth and then down to the table, and he allowed himself a small grin. Yeah, he would bet Dean was curious.

“Not much to tell, to be honest,” Constantine said and threw his hands out, leaning forward. “I’m just a dabbler in the dark arts, trying to help those less fortunate.”

Dean stared at him for a moment before he looked down again.

“You’re full of bullshit,” he said, but there was a hint of laughter in his voice, and Constantine digged his figurative thumb into this crack in Dean’s tough exterior.

“I may be so, but don’t we all hide behind one mask or another,” he said with a dramatic sigh, taking another swig of his beer. The look Dean sent him did not go unnoticed, however.

“I hear ya,” Dean murmured after a short pause. He then downed the rest of his bottle in one go.

Constantine tilted his head sideways.

“Let me pay for another round,” he said, and Dean nodded silently with downcast eyes.

 

Constantine had no idea what time it was when he stumbled outside to have a fag, but there was a slight drizzle that made the asphalt glisten in the light of the streetlamps. He leaned back against the stone wall of the dark alley and dug out a packet and his lighter

His fingers were shakier than he wanted them to be when he lit a cigarette and threw his head back to inhale the bitter smoke. He startled a bit when he felt someone come up beside him, but he smiled when Dean reached for his cigarette, deftly plucking it from his fingers and slotting it between his own lips.

Constantine watched him as smoked curled out of his nostrils. Dean had a youthful face, but there were marks of hardships on him, evident in the crooked nose that had been broken, the dark bags under his eyes, and the remnants of a healing bruise on his brow. Constantine wanted to lick the hollow of Dean’s throat.

Instead he leaned in, under the pretense to retrieve his cigarette. The were the same height, so this brought them into very close proximity, one that made Constantine feel almost giddy. Dean turned his head slowly, almost lazily, and allowed Constantine to take the cigarette from his mouth.

Dean met his gaze evenly and didn’t break it even as Constantine took a long, slow drag on the cigarette. A drop of water slid down Dean’s cheek, and Constantine blew smoke directly into his face.

Dean didn’t even blink. Instead he surged forward, trapping the smoke in Constantine’s mouth with a harsh kiss. Constantine dropped the cigarette and buried his fingers in Dean’s short hair, meeting Dean’s teeth with his tongue. The kiss turned filthy immediately, and had them panting into each other’s mouths.

Dean’s hands landed on the lapels of Constantine’s trenchcoat, bunching up the fabric in a tight grip. Constantine broke the kiss to bite at Dean’s jaw and press his lips down the column of Dean’s throat; he smelled of sweat and rain and tobacco. Constantine inhaled greedily.

“I’ve never kissed a man before,” Dean said suddenly. Constantine froze with his mouth on Dean’s collarbone, and straightened up slowly.

“Hope it wasn’t a disappointment, then,” he said with a sardonic rise of an eyebrow. Dean’s teeth shone white in the dim darkness when he flashed a quick grin. Constantine didn’t wait for a reply before he dove in again, catching Dean’s sinful lower lip between his own teeth.

Dean slid his hands lower, letting his thumbs catch in Constantine’s trouser pockets. Constantine hissed quietly and murmured into Dean’s ear,

“I’d rather not we shag in this here alley, if it’s alright with you.”

This time it was Dean who stilled and leaned back, ever so slightly.

“Where, then?” he said with a note of petulance that reminded Constantine of just how young Dean Winchester still was, for all his macho posturing.

Constantine shrugged with a calculated nonchalance.

“I’m actually staying in a hotel, you’re welcome to join me there if you like.”

Dean blinked, and Constantine felt his hands twitch where they rested on his hips. Then the bright, crooked smile reappeared on Dean’s face.

“Beats sleeping at a dingy motel.”

 

Truth be told, the hotel wasn’t much better than a dingy motel, but at least the walls were thick and the floors clean. The journey there had been quiet, walking shoulder to shoulder but not exchanging words or even glances.

Constantine locked the door behind them, and was about to shrug out of his trenchcoat when Dean slammed into him, pressing him up against the door.

“Hey now,” Constantine tried, but was cut off by Dean licking into his mouth. Trust someone like Dean Winchester to kiss another man for the first time and be pushy about it.

Constantine figured he wasn’t going to get a word in, and besides, actions spoke louder, didn’t they? He tugged firmly at Dean’s oversized leather jacket, pulling it down over his shoulders until he let go of Constantine and let the jacket drop to the floor in a heap.

While Dean was slightly off-balance, Constantine used it to his advantage and manhandled Dean around so that Dean was the one pressed against the door. Constantine leaned back just enough to rid himself of his trenchcoat, before he put his hands to work on the buttons of Dean’s plaid shirt.

Dean followed his movements with his eyes, and swallowed visibly. Constantine’s hands stilled when the last button was popped open and his hands were ghosting over the lining on Dean’s jeans.

“Are you sure about this?” Constantine asked, surprised at how rough his voice came out. Dean swallowed again and met his eyes.

“I can’t back out now, can I,” he bit out, wetting his lips with his tongue. Constantine caught Dean’s face between his hands and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Of course you can, you bloody idiot,” he muttered. “But just so you know, I have it on great authority that I give amazing head.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Dean said drily, but his hands slid down Constantine’s back, cold fingers sneaking in under the shirt. Constantine laughed into Dean’s neck and kissed it

“I don’t give it away for free though, love,” he teased, casually toeing off his shoes and socks. Dean scoffed, and wriggled a little to throw off his own shirt and t-shirt.

“When I said I’d never kissed a man, I didn’t mean I’ve never gotten a man off,” he murmured into Constantine’s ear.

Constantine knew it was supposed to be alluring, but all it did was send an icy tendril down his spine. To drown it out, he gently grasped Dean’s chin with one hand and let the other trail down his chest.

His fingers tangled with something - the necklace Dean wore. It had been hidden beneath his t-shirt, and Constantine now saw it was some kind of amulet. Dean didn’t much care for his interest in it, apparently, because he swiftly put his hands to work on Constantine’s belt and fly.

Constantine allowed himself to be pushed backwards, step by step, until his back connected with the back wall of the hotel room, right next to the bathroom.

Dean had gotten his trousers open at this point, but moved now to unbutton Constantine’s shirt. He loosened the red tie only enough to get the first button open, and then kissed Constantine, inch by inch, while he opened one button after another.

When Dean got down on his knees, Constantine could only breathe heavily and grasp at the wall for any form of purchase, inwardly cursing in at least three different languages.

Dean looked up at Constantine through long lashes and that _bastard_ had the cheek to grin broadly before he shoved down trousers and pants just enough to get his mouth on him.

“Fuck,” Constantine let out and threw his head back. It connected to the wall with a bang.

“Ow, fuck,” he repeated, but Dean only hummed and did something with his tongue that made Constantine’s knees weak.

He had to put a hand in Dean’s hair to ground himself. He tried not to urge Dean on, but the light press of a palm seemed to encourage him further. Constantine found it a little ironic that when he hit the back of Dean’s throat, it was _he_ who choked, not Dean.

“Jesus _Christ_ , bloody hell,” Constantine tried weakly, but Dean didn’t let up. It wasn’t long before Constantine shook his head and panted out,

“I’m real close, so you might wanna, _ah_ , get off, there’s a good lad.”

Dean glanced up at him and leaned backwards a little so that only the tip rested in his mouth.

“I mean it,” Constantine continued, tugging insistently at the short strands of Dean’s sandy brown hair. “I’m not quite done yet, and some of us aren’t so young that we can have a go twice in one night, you know.”

This made Dean let go of Constantine’s cock, _finally_ , and ask,

“What are you talking about?”

Constantine smirked.

“I’ll show you,” he said, and hauled Dean to his feet only to shove him down onto the bed. The surprise on Dean’s face would have been comical if it wasn’t heart-breaking.

Constantine straddled his thighs and started to open Dean’s jeans to get a hand on his erection. The idiot still had his goddamn boots on, and when Constantine leaned down to capture his lips in a kiss, Dean angled his head away.

“I won’t taste very good,” he said with a shaky laugh. Constantine scoffed and turned Dean’s head with a hand curled at the back of his neck.

“I just want to kiss you, you fucking wanker,” he muttered and cupped Dean’s half-hard cock in his other hand.

“Guys don’t usually interrupt me to return the favor,” Dean murmured and finally allowed Constantine to kiss him.

 “That’s a shame,” he said carefully. “I can’t wait to see what kind of noises you’ll make, Dean.”

Constantine rather enjoyed the flush that spread on Dean’s cheeks at his words. He obviously didn’t know what kind of sexual encounters Dean had had with men, but he suspected them to be the kind where Dean walked away with a handful of bills instead of with an afterglow.

“You tell me when to stop,” Constantine said with a huff, after he had finally rid both himself and Dean of all remaining clothes.

“Sure,” Dean breathed, when Constantine settled in between his legs and pressed soft kisses to his belly, slowly traveling downwards. Dean was a fantastic mix between toned muscle and soft flesh, and Constantine enjoyed pressing his fingers into the meat of his legs.

Dean’s cock was heavy and warm against Constantine’s tongue, but the way Dean squirmed beneath him when he put his mouth on him was truly exquisite. He could barely still his hips from twitching.

“Fucking hell,” Dean gasped out, like no one had ever gone down on him before. Which was a possibility, of course, just not one Constantine cared to entertain.

Constantine took his sweet time. He was in no rush, and the way Dean fisted the sheets and swallowed down whines and moans was probably the hottest thing he’d ever experienced. He slid off when his jaw started to ache, and massaged the crease of Dean’s thigh with a thumb, while he cupped his balls with his other hand.

When his finger caught on the rim of Dean’s hole, Dean let out a gasp and arched off the bed.

“Alright?” Constantine murmured and kissed the tip of Dean’s cock. Dean had turned his head into the pillow, breathing heavily.

“Yeah,” came the muffled answer. “Yeah, yes.”

“Hold up, then,” Constantine muttered and rolled off the bed to retrieve a condom and a packet of lube.

Dean didn’t look at him even once, when Constantine opened him up with slick fingers, all while sucking gently on his cock. The steady stream of gasps and whimpers assured him that he was doing something right at least, and when he scissored his two fingers, Dean’s hand shot down to clutch at Constantine’s blond hair.

“Will you just fuck me already?” he panted, biting off a moan at the end.

“Bossy,” Constantine muttered, but he was fully hard again. He deftly rolled the condom on, and sidled up, a little awkwardly.

“Should I... turn around?” Dean asked, peeking at Constantine and getting up on his elbows.

“If you don’t mind, I’d rather not,” Constantine replied, hooking one of Dean’s legs on his shoulder and then lined himself up. “You tell me if you want me to stop. I can just as well wank off in the shower if you get tired.”

“Like I’d tire before you, old man,” Dean grinned. The grin was weak, but it was still a grin.

“I’m glad,” Constantine breathed when he nudged the tip of his cock inside.

Dean’s face when Constantine sank in made Constantine so fucking glad he’d insisted on the slightly awkward position. His eyes scrunched close and he bit his lip, only to let his mouth fall open in a silent moan when Constantine was fully seated.

“Would you look at me,” Constantine murmured, leaning down and bending Dean almost in half. Moss green eyes shot open, focusing on Constantine, and it was a heady feeling when he started to move, slowly.

The only light in the room came from the street lamp outside, filtered through filthy curtains. The sound of their combined breathing seemed to fill the room.

“I’ve never seen a blond guy with brown eyes,” Dean said suddenly in a conversational, if a little breathless, tone as he stared up at Constantine. Constantine barked out a laugh, and Dean gasped beneath him.

“Sorry,” Constantine said, but Dean shook his head.

“No,” he muttered, averting his eyes. “Feels good.”

So Constantine leaned all his weight on one arm and sneaked the other down beneath them, to grasp Dean’s cock in his hand. After that, it didn’t take long for Dean, who held onto Constantine, digging blunt fingernails into his shoulder blades as he came with a stifled shout.

Constantine followed close after, slumping down on top of Dean a sweaty mess and groaning into the joint between shoulder and neck.

He didn’t linger long; he rolled off to dispose of the condom, tying a neat knot and throwing it in the bin beside the bed. He then shuffled into the bathroom only to emerge with a roll of toilet paper that he threw on Dean, to help him clean up.

Dean looked a little bashful, drawn up and leaning on the headboard as he dried off his own come on his stomach and chest, throwing the balled up tissues into the bin as well.

“I should go,” Dean began, but  Constantine only huffed as he slid under the covers and threw an arm around Dean’s shoulder.

“It’s fucking cold outside, and I reckon your dad will be mad at you if you come sneaking in at four in the morning like a thief, waking him up,” he reasoned, fishing out his packet of cigarettes from his trouser pocket.

“I guess,” Dean admitted, shoulders slumping a bit. Constantine tightened his grip on them and put the cigarette in his mouth, fumbling after his lighter.

They shared the cigarette and smoked it down to a stub that Constantine put out on the bedside drawer.

“Well, I hope you’re a cuddler,” he said, and pulled the covers up on them both. “Because I tend to hog the bed in my sleep.

“I’ll kick you,” Dean answered as they made themselves comfortable, and Constantine smiled.

They settled down, side by side, shoulders touching lightly. The sheets rustled as Dean turned towards Constantine.

“We’ll be leaving town tomorrow, dad and I” he said slowly. Constantine looked down at him, willing him to continue.

“You don’t have to sneak out in the morning, is all I’m saying,” Dean clarified, fiddling with the gold amulet around his neck. Constantine turned as well, so that they were eye to eye.

“Well, that’s a relief,” he said with a crooked grin. “I hate sneaking.”

Deans answering smile was almost blinding. They fell asleep to the sound of each others’ breathing.


End file.
